Moonlight on the Orangery
by indigobluewriter
Summary: What if Maria had had second thoughts about returning to the Abbey? What would have happened? Don't forget to visit Sound-of-Music-Fics for everything about the film!


Moonlight on the Orangery

The Baroness wafted out of the room, an exquisite scent lingering in the air behind her like a marker left by an exotic and predatory beast. Turning to close the door, her glance and the smile on her lips let slip who'd won.

Shivering as the door clicked shut, Maria wrapped her hands around her bare arms; standing there, taken aback, she realised it was not the cold making her shake, but fright. She took the dress she had planned to wear in her hands and, now gazing at it in self-contempt, remembered the Captain's soft looks the last time she had worn it, the warmth of his hands, and how bewitching it was dancing with him. Had her shivering been a frisson of pleasure that he was in love with her?

She was confused: what should she do? For the Baroness had told Maria something she had not previously allowed herself to accept: that in falling for the Captain, she had contravened her commitment to God, had corrupted her whole purpose in life. And worse still, Elsa had said he was in love with her, only serving to confirm what she had sensed dancing the Laendler with him earlier that evening: she had been overwhelmed by his closeness, knowing deep down he felt the same about her. And now the Baroness had said it, simple and direct, leaving no chance of denial.

Escape, she had to escape! She had to leave the villa before the news became known, before she became the focus of gossip; she had to return to her spartan life at the convent, pretending nothing had happened. Dinner was off the menu, she thought, even though she knew the Captain would be waiting for her at that very moment in the dining room with all those guests; guests eager to fuel their chatter with awkward questions. She could hear their voices rising from the dining room, and winced thinking of them watching her. No, the place laid for her at his table would remain empty for all to see, silver cutlery lying still and untarnished on the white cloth. She made up her mind: she must fly back to her life of singularity and devotion to duty at the Abbey straightaway.

Maria cast aside the finery in her hands and with it, the cherished memories it carried, taking down her drab postulant's dress from the wardrobe. Pulling on its dull layers, it seemed an aeon since she had last worn it, arriving wide-eyed as the new governess earlier in the summer: a time now a bygone age of innocence and simplicity. Throwing on her jacket, she felt for her cross in her pocket, reached out for her bag, then stopped - she remembered the Abbey would be closed for the night: the nuns would be asleep before rising for Vigils at daybreak; no amount of ringing at the doorbell would raise the slumbering incumbents. The prospect of waiting alone in the dark outside those cold stone walls stopped her dead.

Maria looked around her room: the elegant curtains at the tall window where Liesl had climbed in, the plush carpet, the softest of duvets where the children had nestled on her first night at the villa. She hesitated, struck by a slew of self-doubt. Then finally she decided to remain one more night before returning to the Abbey in the morning, when the nuns would be up and about and, she hoped, ready to accept her again into her former life without question.

She looked at the blue dress on the bed, knowing it could be the last time she would wear it. Slipping it on, glancing momentarily in the mirror, she wondered what was happening downstairs while her place remained unoccupied at the party. It was quieter now the doors to the dining room had been shut and the orchestra was resting, but she could hear the staff calling and hurrying in the hall. With alarm, she realised someone might come knocking on her door to find her - Franz perhaps - to ask why she was not at dinner, her place unfilled.

– Worse still, what if the Captain came to see where she was?

She had to find somewhere she would not be discovered – but where? The bathroom was too small, the schoolroom locked…nowhere seemed safe until she suddenly remembered…the Orangery, where she had been teaching the children to draw and paint in the afternoon until Frau Schmidt had called them for tea. Seven pairs of feet had stormed out, leaving the tools of the afternoon strewn behind them.

Maria blinked as she opened the door, a silvery light on the pillars casting a series of parallel lines upon the floor. Above them, behind furling leaves, nestled fruits of yellow and orange with a fragrance so sweet it was impossible not to bend and smell their offerings. She wandered in, cupping their roundness in her hands, drawing in the citrus scents; it was refreshing just to be there. Then she came to the table where lay evidence of the afternoon's activities - pencils lying at angles, paper colourfully painted. She smiled as she remembered the children absorbed in their drawings, and Marta, her tongue curling from the corner of her mouth as she tackled the tricky bits.

The glass hall was still hot, the peach-clad walls still radiating the afternoon's heat. Maria gradually began to seek some cool night air; reaching for both handles, she pushed the glass doors wide open and stood on the step, letting the dewy air wash over her. From far across the lawn came the distant chatter of diners, the occasional peal of laughter and the rich tobacco smell of cigars. She felt a distinct feeling of relief that she had decided not to join them.

Screwing up her eyes in the moonlight, she turned back into the Orangery where the aromatic smell of rosemary teased her nostrils, waxing and waning as she moved past each blue-spired bush. Walking back along the path, Maria stepped carefully to avoid drawings on the floor, abandoned earlier in mid-sketch. Bending to pick up paintbrushes, she rose to rinse them in water before laying them out on the table in lines to dry, paints were carefully replaced in boxes. Books left open, upright pages wavering in the fickle draught from the garden, she gently closed; it felt comforting being alone in the quiet.

What she had not realised was that in opening the doors, a shaft of moonlight had glinted momentarily in the direction of the house. And that a dark figure standing on the marble terrace had stiffened a little, watching in silence as she stood in the doorway. For a full minute he stayed there as she stood with a hand on each door, breathing in the scents of the night. He looked back towards the dining room, with its bright lights and noisy regaling of politics and scandal, then turned again towards the Orangery. But its entrance now was empty, void. No one was in sight.

Reaching out to the scattering of pencils again, Maria began gathering them into the pot they came in, laying crayons into a box. She was just collecting the papers, patting them into shape, when she faltered. Froze. Crisp footsteps behind her: she spun round, gasped.

"I had a place specially laid for you at my table this evening." She blinked at the tall silhouette outlined in the doorway, unable to make out any features, unable to say a word. "But you never came." He stood, motionless. All she could pick out from the dark figure was the silver of a cross against the white of his shirt, red ribbon around his neck. Then, as he advanced with slow paces, he asked gently, "Why didn't you come?"

"I…thought people wouldn't approve", she managed.

"You are my guest. I invite who I wish to dine at my house". At which Maria stuttered,

"The Baroness…she wouldn't like it…" He stopped, saying nothing, so near. So near she could see his eyes with their unfaltering gaze. So near she thought he would hear her heart beating out loud. So far, it seemed, was the gulf between them. Gently he shook his head, stretched his fingers.

"Fraulein, the baroness will be returning to Vienna this week, and I don't think…she will be returning anytime soon." Puzzled, Maria took a step back to give herself time, then decided to tell him the truth.

"Captain, I will be returning to the Abbey in the morning. I've decided it's the right thing to do." He looked at her sharply.

"Don't go", he said quietly, searching her face.

"I feel I must".

"Yes, but…" he searched for words but seemed at a loss. Looking along the Orangery, he gestured towards the citrus. "... these lemons are nearly ripe; the children love picking them. They need you here this week to help store them."

"But I don't know how …"

"…I will show you. We will show you; they love it." Maria held her hand to her head, unsure what to do, the Captain watching her. "Maria, I promise, no Baroness…" She stood there wordless for a moment until he whispered, "You will stay, won't you?" They stood in silence until a smile crept on to her face and she nodded. And as he leaned forward towards her, she closed her eyes, waiting…

But as the orchestra struck up once more the magic was fractured, and with a crunch of gravel he was walking out of the Orangery. Opening her eyes, she saw him approach the door, his silhouette outlined in silver. There he hesitated, as though listening to the strains floating across the lawn. He gazed towards the house, where his guests were rising from dinner.

"Maria…" One hand on the frame beside him, he lingered a while before turning around:

"… will you…dance with me again?"

In the evening a few days later, an owl sat silently in the trees beside the lake. The house loomed behind, now noiseless and in darkness - except for a low light escaping from the ballroom doors. Flung open to let in the warm air, the doors allowed the golden light to spill out through them onto the marble terrace, where it glinted in the horn of a wind-up gramophone that someone had placed there.

Every now and then, in its search for a mate, the owl let out a call which echoed across the water. Some time passed until eventually there was a similar response from the far side of the lake. The owl looked round, listening for another call from the dark. But as it waited, the bird was startled by a new, crackling sound from the terrace. Rising up, it flew out of the tree with great lofty flaps of its wings, and towards the roof of the house. And as the notes of an old waltz began tumbling out over the garden, the owl flew over the terrace, and as it did, the couple entwined below began to dance.


End file.
